Prelude to Ashes
by Ekoaleko
Summary: Ashes, ashes; we all fall down... Death is not something you can forget, and loss is not a hole that can be filled, but replaced. But try not to be blinded, because it is just as easily misplaced. Meryl x ?, Magical Melody. Rated T.
1. prelude to ashes: pilot

**p**r**elud**e** t**o** a**s**h**es

_Shhhh…._

A discreet hush fell over the ancient forest. The winds, which had been sharp and stinging just an instant ago crumbled, sending ripples across the viridian grass. The sorrowful melody of the birds in the trees silenced. Even the clouds seemed to still, and the sunbeams were caught. It was almost as if the forest had fallen asleep…but it was all too abruptly. No, it seemed like the forest had…

Died.

A girl burst out into the grassy clearing, panting and gasping. Dirt and stains clung to her skin and clothing, and her silky dark hair was everywhere. The gleam of her chestnut eyes were edged with panic, laced with bloodshot lightning. She squeezed her eyes shut, grabbed at her temples in agony; she'd been here already.

It all started with the wail—the horrible, _awful _wail that ricocheted through the gaps of the tree trunks, reverberating off the invisible walls of the sky and exploding. Like a banshee's screech, it was so horrid…

She tore through the bushes, each sound her actions made echoing and intensifying in the quiet woods. Her eyes searched the trees frantically—her fingers pried through the small openings she could not pass. Her steps were wide, long, almost like strides as she struggled to quicken. Faster and faster, until the emerald scenery spun around her…it was like falling.

Her search ended by a protruding tree root. As she tripped over it, she stopped, sat down and cried. Her loud and shameless sobs seemed to closely resemble a name.

"Tim…"

She began to hear a hum, like an irritated echo in her ear, and dismissed it. But suddenly the hum grew louder, lower, like someone was groaning in pain. Her eyes snapped open wide and the tears stopped flowing. Her body turned rigid and still as she glanced behind her, to her sides.

The groan evolved into a ghastly shriek. She immediately screamed and buckled to the ground, thrashing as the sounds imprinted into her body and made her bones itch. Shivers of pain culled through each twist and turn and swivel of blood… It hurt so much…

Then the treetops shook madly and wind ripped through the branches. The shriek rode along the wind arrows and paused slightly by the girl's throbbing ear. The shallow hum of the insects and birds melded into a wild medley, shrieking and hissing and crying. The clouds raced in front of the sun until it was barely seen, and the tall, castle-wall grass reached up against the girl. They bounded her lips, wrapped around her eyes, tightened against her sweaty wrists, and continued until she was completely hidden from view.

The forest had awoken.

**xoxo**

The boy wriggled through the tree roots that wrapped loosely around him, his cheeks stained red. He briefly examined the scrapes and cuts all over his arms and body, and the awful gash that was carved into his right leg. He tugged at the edge of his once-crisp, once-white shirt, but it barely stretched. It wouldn't rip—there was no point.

He looked down at his feet; one shoe had been taken away, and quite literally at that. He was walking with his friend Meryl through the forest in the mountain, enjoying the pure scenery and abstract nature. The normality was obliterated in a split instant, though, and suddenly the world seemed to swirl around the two. He heard a beautiful sound—the most gorgeous voice in eternity. It was singing.

Meryl had collapsed dramatically, her hands grabbing at her ears, claiming the sound hurt her; that it sounded like a scream. That was when hell broke loose.

The grass started to grow faster than it would have in months. It stood, towering, as tall as cornstalks. Vines reached out, past the girl, to grab the boy, but he dodged them and was forced to break into a deadly sprint. Like snakes, the vines slithered after him, and as he ducked away for cover by the foot of an enormous tree trunk, it too suddenly spurted. Overgrown roots shot out, sharp as swords, wounding him everywhere. They captured his joints, pulled him in and caged him tightly, so tightly he could barely breathe. And then he drifted.

Now he was awake, and he had never been so afraid. He tried to run to the clearing he remembered getting separated in, but his injured leg strained and clawed at his insides until he was forced to slow to a limping walk. Dragging along, the forest began to darken, and a familiar hum danced into his ears. He enjoyed the soft sound and as he walked, his worries faded and he could barely remember his purpose, much less his own name. Slowly, the beautiful music began to replay, sweet and pure as before, like the treble of a keyboard.

He was mesmerized. How could Meryl be in pain listening to what sounded like a voice of the angels? It was soft, high yet low at the same time, and feminine. It was sweet—pure and untouched. It always started as a drawn-out hum, the most amazing sounding hum he had ever heard. And then the notes soared by until it was a song, like water pouring gently from a stream.

He followed the voice, the stream in his mind, his heart pounding, his mind soothed. He pushed through drooping branches and stepped over fallen logs—nothing would get in his way. He wanted the voice. He…_needed_ it. The rhythm of his heartbeat was in pace with the melody.

His head was tilted downward when he arrived at the foot of the singer. Closer up, the voice was even clearer, more impossibly beautiful. He dropped to his knees like in prayer. The song was too amazing—he didn't deserve to hear it. When he raised his head to look at the owner of the captivating prelude, the melody suddenly stopped flowing. It didn't fade out slowly or waver—it just suddenly came to a halt.

A thick vine shot through his chest the instant he met the singer's eyes, which were infuriated, slicing glares. He fell against the vine, which was accompanied by ten, twenty more, his breath knocked out in an instant, the gashes seeming to melt his body. He continued to stare up at the possessor of the amazing voice despite the absolute pain that was quickly swallowing his body.

Black, bruise-like shapes began forming in the mouths of his wounds. The pools of blood that seeped out turned to soot, and in seconds, he was but a pile of ashes.

**xoxo**

A/N: This is my new longfic, and my latest addiction. I can't guarantee the next update, but it will probably occur when I'm in an angry or disturbed mood, like I was while writing this. I'm positive the rating will remain strictly at T. I'll be toning down the language, but upping the violence; stepping down from dialogue, advancing toward monologue. Please criticize me.

Oh, and ten points to the observant.

_Ekoaleko. _


	2. four years

A/N: You have no idea how much I enjoy writing this

A/N: You have no idea how much I enjoy writing this. Since I plan nothing, I switched POVs and changed the plotline drastically, though you won't be informed of it until later. Note that this story won't be all blood and violence—I'm throwing some romance in there, too, and officially one of my new favourite pairings. For any upcoming misunderstandings, Meryl was twelve in chapter one.

I love you for reviewing. I don't think anyone noticed, but the bolded letters in the title in chapter one, spelled _roses_. Try to find this one, too, though it won't be very hard. Lastly, I apologize for crappy html and format. My laptop is unable to access documents via ffNet, so that sucks. Read on.

…

**F**our _Y_**ear**s

Four years is not as long as it seems.

Sure, pick it apart as much as you want, twist the words to your liking, shift them around until it doesn't sound as bad—forty-eight months, whatever number of days, I don't know, you do the math. If you got past the monotony of the actual experience of living that length of time and got over yourself and the stupid grieving, then you'd be able to endure those four years…like I had.

It's not impossible. It shouldn't _be_ impossible. Sure, it would obviously be hard at the beginning to continue on, pretending to mesh into the rest of the unchanged population—okay, maybe not so hard at the very beginning. The very beginning was just pain and numbness. But after the very beginning, maybe a few days or a week later, then reality would settle in, and the precedent aching would be nothing compared to what would settle in.

After all, sometimes there was a drastic difference between real pain and illusion pain, the latter, which you created for yourself. Either way, no matter what cause or category, it was pain that gnawed at your body all the same.

I still had the scars—they stayed with me through the months and years, like birthmarks. There was a fading, long, but also long-closed slit on my left forearm; you could barely see it, unless it was under the dimmest of lights. A tiny, splinteresque scar claimed territory on my right calf, closer to my ankle. A couple of unhealing scratches on my knees were left behind, since I fell on them often, even in the present. But the worst one—the deepest, the most painful wound—was where nobody could see it, thankfully: a contorted, miscoloured bruise that started from the higher planes of my back and twisted around my body, stopping abruptly just before my bellybutton. It was one of those wounds that, no matter how old, you would wince upon looking at, even when you were prepared to see it. It was a shock, a fear that never went away. What's strange is that this wound never faded—the pain never subsided. While the other scars eventually paled to match my natural skin tone and settled to smoothen my skin's couture, this one stayed unchanged. It was laced with a dark black, and it stung to caress with anything sharper than the material of silk.

There was a light knock on the door. I knew, four years ago, that whoever was at the other side of the door—and I was almost sure I already knew—that knocking wouldn't be required. They could have just walked in.

But that was then, and this…is now.

"Come in, Ronald," I murmured, referring to my uncle, who had taken me in ever since I'd moved to Flower Bud Village when I was too young to remember. I sat up in my bed and yanked down my shirt, which I had been adjusting to stare at my scars.

The door creaked open, as if warily. "Meryl?" he said, looking around the room even though I was right in front of him in my closet of a room. His thick mustache and eyebrows were prominent against his chestnut-coloured skin, where early wrinkles showed signs of approaching.

"Hey," I greeted him shortly. "What's up?"

"Uh…" He hesitated. It had been like this ever since that incident four years ago—didn't he get that I was over it now? "There's someone I'd like you to meet; I'm sure you'll like him."

I quirked up a brow, inputting before he could ramble on. "Another new farmer?" I guessed. There had been an onslaught of new farmers arriving lately—I suppose two wasn't a very big number, but for an outdated and remote town like Flower Bud, it definitely seemed like one. As far as I knew, the last newcomer before the farmers was Ronald, and that was years ago.

"No, no…we have enough competition already," I thought I heard him add under his breath in a muted mumble. Then he brightened again, not that he'd looked very cheery to begin with. "We have a new worker."

Ronald and I lived in a rather spacious building, which was surrounded by a bit more than a dozen trees that he liked to refer to as an orchard. Hence, came the name and business, 'Paradise Orchard.' It was a rather cheesy name, but my uncle was a bit cheesy as well, and my pride was the last thing I could care about.

"That's great, Ronald," I said.

He looked at me, studied me, as if being careful not to blink. I realized he'd expected me to meet this new worker—of course. I got up slowly, biting back a groan as my back bumped against the wall. "Where is he?"

"In the guestroom, unpacking."

My mouth stretched open, but I was unsure of how wide it was. Although it must not have been wide enough, since my uncle didn't seem fazed in the least.

"He's moving in?" I demanded, more irritated than shocked by the abruptness of the situation. "I haven't even met him, and he's going to live with me now?"

"Now, now," –and they said adults understood a child's feelings through experience— "you'll get to know him. Come on, now, I'd like to give him some time to adjust." And he left in haste, as if to get away from anymore questions or complaints I held inside.

I sat on my bed, still, resisting the urge to fall against it again and punch the mattress until it squealed behind me. But the walls were thin, and how was I supposed to make a good impression by throwing a tantrum?

Again, not that pride was something I really cared about anymore.

I trudged down the hall, and as expected, Ronald was waiting for me. He urged me to the guestroom, which was only a little further down the hall. He knocked and I stared at the floor.

The door swung open jovially, and it was as if a second sun had been placed in the room. "Oh, hi!" I heard a man with a voice, not low and rich but not exactly high and girly, say. It irritated me further that he seemed surprised—I mean, _I _lived here, after all.

Ronald started talking. I assume he was introducing me since I heard my name, which I was thankful for. I continued to look at nothing but his legs and feet, which were clothed with plain white socks and cut-off jeans. His shins were dark and muscular.

Curiosity got the better of me, and slowly, my gaze rose. I was irked to find that another pair of eyes had been waiting for me. They were a deep shade of blue—so dark and deep they almost appeared violet. The man had a messy head of hair, pulled back in a faded red bandana in a futile attempt to keep his long bangs back. They spilled out of loose openings and nearly touched his long, straight nose. His lips were pulled up in a smile, all his straight white teeth showing—a friendly smile.

I tried to return the gesture, but it seemed like I was only baring my teeth at him. I quickly closed my mouth in case he found anything else in it.

"…So hopefully you two will get better acquainted soon, but I'm sure Dan would like to get his things sorted out first and have a good night's rest. Don't you think, Meryl…Meryl?"

I blinked myself back into reality. One instant I was looking into Dan's amused eyes, and next I was staring into my uncle's blabbering and concerned face. "Yeah, okay," I muttered, my gloomy tone out of place.

"Good, good. Have a nice night—oh, yes, thank you. You too. Great. See you in the morning." I couldn't focus enough to hear both sides of the conversation, so I let Ronald lead me out of the new worker's room and back to mine.

"Night," I murmured briefly, and moved to lightly shut the door.

Ronald caught it before I could end my movement. He stared at me with worry. "Meryl? Are you okay?"

I choked down the urge to grit my teeth and snarl in his face, _do-I-look-okay? _Instead, I put on an ugly smiley face and touched his shoulder. "Of course I am, I'm just tired. See you tomorrow morning."

He noticed my finality and bid me goodnight, allowing me to shut the door. I could tell he wasn't convinced, but I wasn't so sure that I cared.

I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth, changed into my pyjamas and climbed into bed. It had begun to rain outside and a storm brewed, the sky growling at me, and thunder snapping and crackling against nature's soft whistles and hums. The racket didn't bother me at all, and I found my eyes sliding swiftly shut, and my mind taking off and drifting into slumber.

Not long later, when darkness engulfed me, I suppose it decided that it was bored. My unconscious mind lit up and I was living one of those surreal experiences where I already knew it was a dream, but I couldn't come to enough to wake myself up.

The trees were straight, perfect, lined up around me. It was too neat…too arranged and tidy. It obviously wasn't real.

The grass below me, and it was funny, because I was somehow watching myself from a third-person perspective—was much too green. Not even the shining emerald jewels I'd seen fresh from the mines could do them justice. The green, glimmering grass was so beautiful it was almost ugly. It didn't move at all. The wind seemed to elude it completely.

And then I saw the boy. The boy whose name I'd tried to block from my memory. I saw his face, and the very face I'd been hurting to forget. It all came back, hard and swift as smacking face-first into a brick wall. I couldn't look away, that damn dream—and my eyes were already closed, in the literal sense. The boy stared at me, an odd smile on his face, and I was so thankful no sound came out when he opened his mouth to speak.

However, what I did hear was a piercing scream, that same banshee's shriek that had wounded me so greatly four years ago. It was crystal clear, like I was reliving the moment—and I hated every second of it. Though it was only my illusion self that fell to the ground, clutching her sides and soundless screams escaping me, my real body ached as well. I could feel the falling sensation in my abdomen, the tightening of my limbs as they pressed together, the burning scar that would never fade on my stomach and back…

And then I woke up, both my knuckles shoved into my mouth, holding in my gasps of terror. I sat up, the wound burning.

It had been four years since it hurt this badly.


	3. sodden senses

Pink and green

A/N: This is taking off into a completely different direction and genre than I expected. I'm sorry that this is so…weird. Well, love it or hate it. Find the message…damn, I feel like a cereal box right now…

**SO**_dden_ **S**_enses_

Childhood was so underrated.

Yes, childhood: the fun, carefree life in which nothing mattered but joy and playtime; the time where time never even existed; the memory that was too fun to clearly remember; the period when that homey sensation could never leave your chest; that amazing and overlooked past that lasted no more than a dozen years.

Ever since that incident four years ago, when I lost my last physically living shred of my childhood, people have been looking at me like I'm some pitiful crybaby. I know what they're thinking—_so what? You were young. It's not like you did anything more than have fun, so why are you even sad still?_ At first, I had agreed with the voices behind my back. I pretended to realize that it was only the fun and the young thrill that I missed.

But then, one day, I just snapped. I didn't miss the _fun_—I mean, of course I missed the damn fun, but that obviously wasn't the only reason for the miniature hell that took up my chest. It was the solitariness, the loneliness I was so tired of that stayed with me for the years after my best friend was gone. It didn't matter how old you were…death didn't differ.

And it didn't help that I had absolutely nobody to help quell the pain.

The bells above my head banged against each other, making a reverberating, stinging smack in my ears. Ever since the incident—that was the only way I referred to what happened, now—my sense of hearing had become especially sensitive. Whenever someone screamed, I cringed, and every noise seemed to echo…louder and turned up, just for me. And I couldn't listen to music anymore. People couldn't sing around me. Not anymore…

Two loud, sensitive things happened in the next few seconds: one, the heavy store door slammed shut behind me. Two: Katie skipped up to me and greeted me in her high, girly voice.

"Hiiiiiii, Meryl! Welcome to Café Callaway! Wow, you haven't been here in so long! Let me get you a table—I'll sit down with you in a sec…"

I was silent, putty in her demanding hands as she ushered me to the table in the far right corner of the room. I sat down, not sparing a glance her way, and she reminded me that she'd be back soon as she hurried away. I knew why she put me here—so she could avert me from the stares I commonly received. I caught one of the men in the village looking at me—damn, it was such a small town and I'd forgotten people's names already—and glared back at him.

I wasn't sure what made me want to come here, but ever since the incident, Katie had been one of the few people I still kept in touch with. She was a few years older than me, but about six years younger, mentally. I told her everything…well, almost. That was a lie. There was nobody I told everything. Nobody…but…

As Katie promised, she was back in no less than a minute. She plopped down on the chair opposite me and folded her hands under her chin. Her bright, blue eyes examined me. "So, what's up?"

"Katie…" I was still looking at my hands, unsure if I should really say what was on my mind. We could skip the small talk. "Hey, do you remember…uh…"

"Remember what?" She blinked curiously, and I almost just gave up on the spot.

I kept going. Images of the dream were flashing in my mind. I had forgotten my purpose of coming here up to this point, and now my nervousness was coming back to me. "Four years ago…" I began again. I saw her tense up a bit in the corner of my eye. She might act childish at times, but she could be amazingly perceptive. She knew about my past—the general parts, at least.

I continued on before she could interrupt, lowering my head bashfully. "Do you remember, four years ago, in the forest, when I went in, and—?" I basically stuttered. I left my question unfinished. Perhaps she could fill in the blanks for me.

Or, perhaps, she could stare at me blankly in the manner of a dead fish. Almost everyone was like this whenever I mentioned the incident—though it wasn't often. Like, damn it, I wasn't going to go into shock or get a seizure by the mere mention of it. Obviously my chest might clench up a little, and I could go a little pale, and a bit nauseous, or ask to leave the room or…

"Meryl…" Katie suddenly took one of my hands. Hers were warm, or maybe mine were cold…I wasn't sure. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," I said, but it sounded like a lie to me. It really wasn't a lie…but last night's dream had sparked something within me. And that voice that hurt me time and time again…why did it seem to provoke me this time? What was the cause of this sudden instigation?

"Then what made you go and…say this?" I could tell she was trying to be careful with her words.

I rolled my eyes. I guess I would always be a child in everyone else's eyes. "I don't know. It was just a whim thing. I was thinking of…well." I took a deep breath. "I want to go back to the forest; come with me?" It was more like a plea than anything else. I had no idea what I was saying, but I had to rush things in case she could think of a way out of my demands.

Katie's shocked face was definitely not a good sign. "Are you crazy?" she whispered, her face white as the bone underneath it.

"Yeah," I said, just so she couldn't argue with me. "Will you?"

"Meryl…" And the next thing I knew, Katie's arms were around me, and her cheek against my hair. "Please, please tell me you're not thinking about him _again_…"

I hated the emphasis she put on _again_. What, so now he was prohibited from my thoughts, just because he was dead? Hah. "I can think about whoever I want to," I retorted, and shoved away abruptly. I knew I was being rude, but it was part of the deal. My best friend dies, I turn crabby. I didn't care anymore, anyway. "If you don't want to come with me, I'll go alone."

"No…" she whimpered. Her big, childlike eyes closed; she could've been thinking or stalling. It was clear she didn't want to come with me.

"Yes. Well. I'm off. Later," I bade her farewell shortly, and left the store before I could see her reaction.

I cringed as the door smacked shut. I thought I heard, in the faintest squeak of the door hinge, _Tim. _

**xoxo**

The sun was beating down on me by the time I had reached the mountain trail beside the Paradise Orchard, which led to the forest above. Prior to the saying, I told myself not to look up, but I couldn't help it—my chin tilted upward and I stared at the tall terraces that seemed to be a million feet high. I could do it. I could climb it, I'd keep telling myself. It wouldn't be like I'd be _climbing _the mountain…that was just a figure of speech…

"Meryl?"

I sprang back in shock of the unreal volume of the voice I couldn't recognize. My eyes shot down a man to my immediate right, sitting under the shade of a fruit tree.

"Um, yes?" I recognized the man as the new worker…damn; I still couldn't remember his name. Though I suppose I was oddly flattered that he remembered mine, and I tried to make an effort to remember his. Nothing came to me.

He suddenly shot me an uneven smile. "Do you remember who I am?"

It had become of a habit of mine to speak before thinking. My words whipped out without control. "Yes, of course I do, you moved into my house and you sleep beside me now." I immediately realized how disturbing that sounded.

Even his smile faltered, but it sprouted back in an instant. "Yeah," he chuckled. "Well…I'm Dan. Where are you going?"

I pointed in no direction—just a straight ninety degrees above my head.

Dan looked up in emphasized observance. He squinted at the glaring mountaintop, like I had just a minute ago. "You're climbing that thing? Cool."

I had to do a double-take. _Cool? _Well, that reaction was a first.

"Mind if I come too?"

My face must've changed dramatically, because his fell. "Well, if you don't want me too…" he began.

I shook my head quickly. "No, it's not like that. I just don't want you to…" _Die_. Geez, I hadn't considered _that_ up to this point. I looked up at the enormous ridges of rock. It was a definite possibility, though… "I don't want you to get lost if I do."

"But then you'd get lost all on your own."

Damn. This guy saw through everything. "I'm not going very far," I lied. "Just picking some flowers five minutes up the trail…I'm sure you wouldn't want to do that…"

He began to talk the instant I trailed off, automatically disinterested. "Oh, well, in that case…" he murmured.

"…Yeah. So, see you later." _Doubt it_.

"Later."

I began to walk away. _That was easy._ Anyone else in the village would have seen right through my lie right away—which made me remember why I felt so much more comfortable around strangers; you could be anyone you wanted around them and they wouldn't know if you acted like that all the time or what. After all, anyone _else _in this secret-less town would know that I would burn in hell before picking flowers, let alone climb a mountain for fun.

I quickened my pace, scarce of even a backpack on my shoulders. After all, my life could end in a few hours, so I didn't really give a crap anyway.

As I hiked, I let my mind wander.

The singing voice, slightly muffled but still audible in my dream last night, made me oddly curious. The pain I had been feeling for so long was so empty, so alone, except there was no solace in this kind of silence. I needed some physical pain that would make me absolutely writhe and squirm and—I stopped walking suddenly. I sounded completely mental.

But I just wanted a wake-up call. I kept walking again.

I didn't count the time, and I didn't keep track of it. All I knew was by the time the forest was even in view, my legs were aching. Thirst trickled down my parched throat like the water that wasn't there, and the rushing waterfall to my side wasn't helping. I climbed across the shaky wooden bridge, which trembled after each step I took.

And then I was there. I was back in the green haze. It seemed strange that I hadn't physically been here in four years because it all seemed so clear and familiar to me now.

An insect cricketed and I covered my ears, blinking hard. Stupid habits. I proceeded into the thick, deep-set brush, almost expecting something deadly to be on the other side. Perhaps everything would be pitch black when I made it through to the other side, or maybe there would be a gigantic monster. What if I fell off the world?

I pulled myself out from the brush and was surrounded by the same endless circle of trees. I knew I'd eventually get lost, but I was too lazy to mark my location _well_. Besides, I doubted I had the strength to walk all the way back down the trail. Without even thinking, I kicked off my shoes and made a little V-shape pointing to the entrance, well, exit of the forest. Then I continued onward, the grass cool beneath my socked feet.

Yes, everything seemed so very conversant… even the night was crisp and quickly darkening, like it had been before. Even though the place seemed creepy—haunting, in a way—it was a refreshing thrill from my everyday schedule. It was darker than it usually was, and if it were any regular day I'd be inside by now, in my room, most likely. Also, despite how familiar everything was, it all also seemed new…how I'd been aching for a fresh start, a new page…

The exciting, nostalgic atmosphere faded quickly, replaced by suspicion. It was strange. Not a single branch had fallen out of place, and there were no stray rocks or litter on the grassy tiles. I searched the ground carefully, trying to find something out of place, if anything…

There was a pinkish leaf on the ground. I leaned over and grabbed it triumphantly, as if spiting the eternally perfect forest had granted me some sort of victory. I was just about to throw the leaf over my shoulder and keep walking into green eternity when I stopped and looked at it.

Pink. Fall was in session, and the Mora trees in town were changing tones. Normally that would not have caught my eye, but in a forest so green through and through, it was impossible not to notice. I kept the tiny leaf in my palm firmly, tucking it between my fingers and thumb.

The air had grown sombre so very quickly. I actually began to feel a bit scared, and I almost laughed at myself for that. I already knew from experience that this was no ordinary forest…a mere voice could offset the most mystical of happenings. Like the long grass that would form walls around me, wrap around me and suffocate me into the deepest oblivion…or perhaps the sharp, churning vines that would follow me as I ran. I glanced around. Nothing was safe here.

I stopped walking mid-step when I realized where I was: dead smack in the middle of a very memorable meadow, the most gorgeous clearing imaginable, and the deadliest. I opened my hand, and the curious pink leaf was in pieces, crushed against my palm. The wind, which hadn't even been there to begin with, blew away the tiny bits and scattered them in my hair and into the nothingness of the air.

A sweet melody crept into my ear and I closed my eyes, at peace. I was quite sure the music was only coming from my head, but any second now and it would materialize into reality and…

A deafening noise drilled into my ears, painful as metal scraping against glass, as shattering as glass against the marble.


End file.
